Love and other Metaphors

Love for me, 

Is like this perfume. 

I wear it on special days, 

Hoping someone says, 

You are unique, so mesmerizing, 

I love the very fragrance of you. 

Some days are dark, swirly blues, 

Gruesome greens and placid blacks. 

Those are the days I turn to Love, 

I search for it in butterflies and leaves, 

Tiny wildflowers on the side of the road, 

Forgotten and unnoticed; I touch them

With sunburnt hands; saying I see you, 

I know you are special even if no one does

And that way, Love flows from me, 

Into the earth and from its dug up corners, 

It is then returned back to me. 

Sometimes I can smell nothing, 

Days pass by, numb and unfeeling, 

I begin to doubt in Love, curse it, 

Everyone's really so selfish and mean. 

But then my children touch my face, 

Hold me by the waist, laughing gleefully, 

I try to pick them up, their eyes the same as me. 

Again, the gentle winds begin to blow, 

The tired summer curtains float upwards, 

Ecstatic strides made towards open windows. 

I'm sometimes haunted by Love, 

It stays by my side, refusing to leave me. 

Wear me every day, every single night. 

I know I'm not easily obtained, but live a little, 

Let me linger in your thoughts some more, 

Remember how I make you feel. 

So I smell my wrists only to realise, 

That Love has changed, it is no longer, 

Overwhelming, intoxicating or sweet. 

In the morning, it's still there, 

But just as a faint memory or a dream. 

I cover my body in a blanket, 

And cherish every last faded step 

It leaves inside my heart. 

I will always remember how it makes me feel.